If you’ve found your way to my blog, you may have read my book, My Cousin Jeremy.

My path to becoming an author began a long time ago in my first grade classroom, the day I learned to read. I don’t remember the exact day or the leap from picture books to chapter books, but within the year I was devouring my older sister’s books.

At age seven, I put down my beloved copy of Black Beauty by Anna Sewell, found a sheet of paper and a pencil and began my first book, White Star. Derivative? Yes. It took some time to find my own voice.

I remained a voracious reader and a writer who began many stories, but finished few. A short time ago I learned that a favorite author, Diana Gabaldon, didn’t write according to a strict outline, she wrote down the scenes that came to her and then wove them together. This revolutionary concept helped me complete my stories. I always sign and date the last written page — even if it’s a scene from the middle.

My Cousin Jeremy was plotted during a violent thunderstorm when the electricity went out. One by one, my children came and took away my flashlights, my battery operated radio, my portable CD player. I was left to create the bones of a new story. As it grew over time, some things have changed, but Jeremy and Clarissa are exactly as I imagined them that dark and stormy night.